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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



OLE MARSTER 

AND OTHER VERSES 



THE VALENTINE MUSEUM 
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA 



OLE MARSTER 

AND OTHER VERSES 



By 
Benjamin B. Valentine 



RICHMOND. VA. 

WHITTET & SHEPPERSON, PRINTERS 

1921 



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Copyright, 1921 
By THE VALENTINE MUSEUM 



From the Press of Whittet & Shepperson 
Richmond, Va. 



FEB -9 1922 



^-.!.A653798 



3To 01? WSiiit 
lila iHeabe Valentine 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Foreword 9 

Ole Marster T 3 

Keep er-grinnin' 22 

De ole Fiddler 2 5 

Study'n' 'bout Chris'mus 2 9 

Chris'mus in my Bones 3 2 

de ole battered ban jo 33 

Wattin' in de Sunshine 35 

ize bound fer ole hanover 37 

Bresh 'em 'Way 39 

De Hoe-cake Walk 4 1 

Study'n' how ter keep frum Gittin' Shook 

Down 44 

Grasshoppers 46 

De Shucktn o' de Corn 4$ 

Uncle Joe 5° 

Little Mistiss 53 

Mammy's Charge 56 

After the War 5$ 

The Race Question 6o 

Reconstruction 64 

The Pessimist 66 

Ruminations 68 

Contentment 7° 

The Point of View 7 1 

The Duck 75 

The King Corn Man 7% 

The Travellers 8° 

De Pot whar call' de Kittle Black 84 



Monologues 

Aunt Dinah at the Fair 91 

Dat Boy 94 

The March of the Lodges 98 

Speech of the Rev. Gabriel Gizzardfort on 
the Celebration of the Fourteenth Com- 
mandment 101 

Astronomical Observations 105 

Dat 'Lec'ric Cyar 109 

Seeing the Circus 112 

A Fire Insurance Policy 115 



Foreword 

SOUTHERN negroes brought up by "Ole Mar 
ster" and "Ole Mistis," and even descendants of 
these dear, dark folk who inherited their char- 
acter, manners, speech and devotion to "we all's white 
folks" are rapidly becoming mere tradition, and with 
them is passing from the American scene something 
vital, something precious. Time never was when they 
could have been understood, much less interpreted by 
any not of the soil and to the manner born — by which 
is meant the white people who were associated with 
them in a relation unique then and impossible now, 
whom they loved and served and who loved and served 
them. 

The survival long after The War Between the 
States of many instances of this relation enabled a 
later day to know and appreciate these humble but 
interesting folk. A Virginian who possessed a su- 
preme gift for interpreting them so that through his 
work they will live always in a world which he him- 
self has left, was Benjamin Batchelder Valentine. 

Both nature and circumstances fitted him for the 
work. To inherited gifts of heart and mind was added 
liberal culture, both intellectual and spiritual. During 
his formative years an ample home — an old and storied 
Richmond mansion, whose rooms were filled with 
books and treasures of artistic and sentimental value — 
provided the setting for wholesome family life. It was 



a home to which faithful colored folk contributed com- 
fort and dignity — a home in whose walled garden flow- 
ers bloomed and the laughter of the children of the 
house and their dusky playfellows from the servants' 
quarters mingled with song of bird and plash of foun- 
tain. 

The head of this house was comrade, guide and 
example to his sons. To his servants he was the friend 
and protector who inspired loyalty. He would have 
been in earlier days an ideal "Ole Marster." 

In such an environment Benjamin Batchelder Valen- 
tine learned to "know by heart" the old-time colored 
folk. To see and hear him impersonate them was an 
unforgettable experience. His interpretations were 
always in verse, but they were no ordinary dialect 
verse. Under the quaint humor which bubbled on their 
surface flowed a deep current whose echo could be 
heard in his mellow, lilting voice, for all its contagious 
chuckles, and which could be glimpsed in his expres- 
sive eyes for all their merry twinkling — showing that 
with fine imagination, with sympathy amounting to 
genius, he felt at once the picturesque traits of his 
subjects which shallower interpreters are prone to cari- 
cature and their mental and spiritual processes. 
Whether or not the philosophy which was a marked 
characteristic of these simple souls was an original 
development or was imbibed from their "white folks" 
and passed on in intensified form to their "white 
folks' " children, is impossible to say, but as seen in the 
work of "Ben Valentine" it is as typical of the inter- 
preter as of the interpreted. Each portrait in the gal- 



lery which his negro verse comprises is sketched with 
unerring touch from some point of vantage peculiar to 
itself, and the whole thus presents, as nearly complete 
as could be within bounds so circumscribed, a visualiza- 
tion of a vanishing race. 

Here are flawlessly reproduced its terse and engag- 
ing phrase, its ingenious vocabulary ; here are its origi- 
nal whimsicalities and delightful absurdities. All of 
this is well worth preserving, but here is, in addition, 
something more subtle, more salient — its philosophy, 
whose interpretation was to "Ben Valentine" as spon- 
taneous as breathing, being his own. 

In "Keep a GrinninY' for instance, he was pic- 
turing the attitude toward life of the old-time colored 
person of Virginia, but he was also describing out of 
his own heart the cheerful face which he — like that 
passing figure — had learned, with a grit which was 
heroic, with a trust in God which was sublime, to turn 
upon adversity. Adversity in his case meaning a long 
battle with illness which brought him down at the flush 
of life in a world which to him was always radiant, 
for it reflected his own radiant spirit, and ended that 
life when it was still in its prime. 

Mary Newton Stanard. 



OLE MARSTER 



Fotch in some mo' de big logs, Sam — hyer nigger, 

shet dat doh — 
My Marster! how de snow come down an' how de 

win' do blow! 
Dem draughts through dat 'ar broken pane gwine kill 

me, dat dey is, 
Dey's blowin' right squar' on de place whar' I got 

rheumatiz. 

Pitch on de lot er light-wood chips, an' poke dat 

fire ergain, 
Please stuff yo' mammy's petticoat in dat 'ar 

broken pane, 
An tek de skillet off de hook — dat chimley's got ter 

draw. 
My ! but dis snow is mighty like dat snow befo' de 

war! 

It meks me kind er creepy-like ter heah dat howlin' 

win'; 
It soun' like critters in de cole er-whinin' ter git in, 
An' dem big gusts dey waves de pines an' keeps 'em 

moanin' so — 
Jes' listen ! ain't dat folks whar's los' er-hollerin' 

"Yo-o-o"? 



14 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

'Tain' nothin' — I wuz wand'rin, Son, 'way back ter 

fifty-six, 
I clean fergot 'bout dis hyer time an' all de years 

ertwix. 
Ole folks don' need no mem'ry strings ter call ole times 

ter min', 
Dey jes' finds written on dey hearts de tallies o' de 

time. 

Dat night Ole Marster sent me roun' ter see de 

critters housed, 
Kase, as de overseer wuz sick, he didn' want him 

'roused, 
An' when I got back frum my roun's, I wuz er shiverin' 

so, 
I come nigh gwine in de hall fo' I stomp off de 

snow. 

I see folks in de dinin'-room, so I went back in dyar 
Ter 'port ter Marster whar I'd been, an' how de 

critters fyar. 
Dat room ain' need no candle light, nor Suh, de big 

fire dorgs 
Hel' out dey brass arms chock right full er blazin' 

hic'ry lorgs, 



Olc Marster 15 



An' on de rug befo' de fire, enjoyin' er de heat, 
Blin' Ponto, kind er drowsy-like, lay stretch' at 

Marster's feet, 
An' Mistiss wuz er-sittin' on er cricket by his side 
Er-heah'in Marster tell about de time she wuz er 

bride. 



Dey saw dat I wuz nigh 'bout friz, frum trampin' in 

de storm, 
So dey jes' kep' me by de fire 'till I felt nice an' 

warm. ; 
An' Mistiss know'd what niggers like; she fotch' 

some bread an' ham, 
An' den, ter warm dem vittals up, she pour' me out 

er dram. 



You'll 'scuse me tellin' such as dat an' ramblin' 

frum de trac', 
But Marster kep' de kin' er dram folks always 

raccolac* ; 
Besides, dem vittals an' dat dram wuz mighty useful 

too, 
I needed all de strength dey gin befo' dat night wuz 

through. 



Ole Marster and Other Verses 



Jes' time I tuk dat drink I hear er big fuss in de 

hall, 
An* Lindy Smith bus' in de room er-hollerin' fo' us 

all: 
"Lord, Marster! He'p me git my chile, she gwine die, 

sart'in sho', 
"Lord, Marster! Fin* my little gal whar's los' out in 

de snow ! 



When I wuz 'way her drunken pa sent her off ter 

de sto', 
An' now she's been de Lord knows whar', nigh 'bout 

three hours or mo' !" 
Wid dat she drap right down an' mourn like she done 

gone distrac', 
An' Mistiss knelt an' smooth her haid an bring her 

senses back. 



Ole Marster fotch' his big slouch hat an' his tali 

hic'ry stick; 
He made me git his lantern out an' trim an' light 

de wick; 
An' time he put his thick boots on, an' button' up his 

coat, 
Ole Mistiss had his muffler warm an' tuck it roun' 

his throat. 



Ole Marstcr iy 



He wuz er mighty likely man— nigh on ter six foot 

three — 
An' her hisself, at sixty-five, as straight as straight 

could be ; 
He look' de gen'ral in his cloak, one han' thrus' in his 

bres', 
His long cape flap flung careless 'cross his shoulder 

an' his ches'. 

De win' wuz high when we went out ; de snow whirl' 

roun' an' roun' ; 
It pour' down on us frum de clouds; den blew up 

frum de groun'. 
'Peared like de sperits er de a'r wan' fight us han' ter 

han', 
An' ev'y sperit in de fight had tuk ter flingin' san'. 

I see right now de home lights fade; I heah Ole 

Marster speak: — 
"You search de main road; I will take de pathway 

'cross de creek. 
Be careful ; 'zamine all de road ; zig-zag frum side ter 

side. 
You are not likely ter git los', de fence will be yo' 

guide." 



18 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

Dar 'twuz — de marster tuk de path, de nigger tuk 

de road — 
Dar wan' no fence ter guide him by, an' dat Ole 

Marster know'd. 
'Twuz like de blue-blood cappen man ter take de 

dang'ous lead, 
An' do it like twa' nothin' 'tall 'cep' nat'ral ter his 

breed. 



I tuk de road, but sech er time I never had befo'; 
My light went out an' I jes' grope an' couldn' see 

ter go. 
At las' I cotch hoi' er de fence, but I wuz so turn' 

roun' 
I didn' know which way wuz up er which er-way wuz 

down. 



I got so col' dat I would fall — somehow I didn' 

cyar — 
I jes' would wonder : "Whar is I, an' what's I doin' 

dyar?" 
I 'spose dat I wuz gittin' friz an' in de sleepy state, 
And dar an' den I stumble' 'pon de horse-block by 

de gate ; 



Ole Marster 19 



Dat wuz er mons'us 'couragement — it woke me up 

right smart; 
It made me notice in de snow er light dat made me 

start. 
De red er fire wuz in de a'r, de glow wuz nigh an' 

far, 
I couldn' tell whar it was at, bekase 'twuz ev'ywhar. 



I 'spicioned dat de great-house den wuz gwine in er 

blaze, 
An* so I wuk' my way erlong, do' I wuz mighty 

daze* ; 
I thought: "My Mistiss mout git bu'nt — de Lord 

knows what gwine 'cur — 
But ef dis nigger dies ter-night he wan' ter die fer 

her." 



'Fo' long I see, nigh ter de house, dey'd built er big 

bon-fire, 
An' folks wuz bringin' wood an' stuff ter set it 

blazin' higher; 
Wet logs wuz pull' frum 'neath de snow, an' pitch' 

upon de pile, 
But in dat win' dey bu'nt up quick like dey wuz soak' 

wid ile. 



20 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

Dat fire wuz built ter guide us by, an' sence I'd 

gotten home, 
We all wuz 'spectin' any time ter see Ole Marster 

come. 
All through de night de bon-fire bu'nt; we call,' an' 

wander' roun' ; 
We stood an' listen' fer er voice, but never heah'd er 

soun'. 



Befo' de dawn de snow hilt up, bekase de win' had 

veer', 
An' by sun-up de clouds had lif an' lef de mornin' 

clear, 
Yet still de win' wuz blowin' hard, an' drif's wuz 

ev'ywhar, 
Dey'd pile an' pile up fer er spell, den leave de 

places byar. 



We took ter searchin' 'bout de creek, er-huntin' up 

an 'down, 
An' in de bushes on de edge Ole Marster's hat wuz 

foun'. 
I den made sho' dat, in de dark, he'd fallen frum de 

bank 
An' plunge' inter de freezin' stream, an' dis wuz whar 

he sank. 



Ole Marster 21 



But sudden-like, Big Aaron call', an' time I tu'n an' 

look, 
He threw his han's up 'fo' his eyes, an' hid his face 

an' shook, 
An' when I got whar he wuz at, 'bout knee deep in 

de snow, 
He p'inted 'round' but didn' speak, he wuz er-cryin' 

so. 



Dyar lay Ole Marster in de drif, stretch' out like he 

wuz 'sleep; 
One han' wuz holdin' tight his cape dat covered up 

er-heap, 
An' as I lif ' dat icy cape, while Aaron gave de 'larm, 
Dar wuz Sis' Lindy's little gal, dead, in Ole Mars- 

ter's arm. 



Put down dis pipe an' han' me, Son, dat Bible off de 

shelf- 
Hi ! dese hyer specs keep gettin' wet — you'll have ter 

read yo'self. 
Turn ter my chapter; read me dat 'fo' I lay down ter 

res'; 
It's 'bout de Shepherd an' de sheep out in de wilder- 
ness. 



Ole Marster and Other Verses 



KEEP ER-GRINNIN'. 



When you heah "Ole Tribberlation" come er tyarin' 

down de road, 
An' you know he gwine ter kotch you an' you got ter 
byar de load ; 
When you feel his bridle pullin', an' de saddle on 

yo' back, 
An' de whip is wavin' roun' you, an* er hittin', ev'y 
crack — 
Den remember 'bout de possum whar wuz settin' on de 

lim', 
Wid de gun er p'intin' at him, an' de dorgs er treein' 
him; 
How he holler ter de hunter an' he holler ter de 

noun* : 
"Ize er gwiriter keep er-grinniri ', doh I spec* you'll 
fotch me down." 



When you studies 'bout de bizness whar you's vested 

ev'y cent, 
An* you see de sheriff comin' fer ter en' de argyment — 
When yo' neighbors te-k ter biddin' on yo' cabin an* 
yo' corn, 



Keep Er-grinnin' 23 



An' de auctioneer's er-holl'rin' : "It's er gwine! 
gwine ! gone !" 
Den remember 'bout de possum whar wuz settin' on de 

lim', 
Wid de gun er p'intin' at him, an' de dorgs er treein' 
him; 
How he holler ter de hunter an' he holler ter de 

houn* : 
"Ize er gwin'ter keep er-grinnin', doh I spec' you'll 
fotch me down." 



When you long has love er lady an' de time you's 

been er-part 
She's er kep' er writin' ter you: "You's de honey uv 
my heart." 
When you take an' draws yo' wages, an' you hurry 

an' you has'e, 
An' you finds er-nother gem'man wid his arm 
er-roun' her wase — 
Den remember 'bout de possum whar wuz settin' on de 

lim', 
Wid de gun er p'intin' at him, an' de dorgs er treein' 
him; 
How he holler ter de hunter an' he holler ter de 

houn' : 
"Ize er gwin'ter keep er-grinnin', doh I spec' you'll 
fotch me down." 



Ole Marster and Other Verses 



When you feels er mighty mis'ry an' yo' stomach's 

kinder bent, 
An' de doctor starts ter projec' wid de cuttin' in- 
stru-ment ; 
When he lays you on de table an' er standin' by yo' 

side, 
He's er-twitchin' an' er-itchin' ter be whittlin' up 
yo' hide — 
Den remember 'bout de possum whar wuz settin' on de 

lim', 
Wid de gun er p'intin' at him, an' de dorgs er treein' 
him; 
How he holler ter de hunter an' he holler ter de 

houn' : 
u Ise er gwin'ter keep er-grinniri , doh I spec' you'll 
fotch me down!' 



De Ole Fiddler 25 



DE OLE FIDDLER. 



De moon peeps through de winder, it lights de cabin 

wall, 
It falls 'pon top de fiddle, an' voices 'pear ter call ; 
Dey soun' like far off people — like sperits in de 

moon, 
Whar want de ole-time fiddler ter play er ole-time 
chune. 



I heahs you callin', callin'. Yas Marsters, I gwine 

go— 
Dis han' is mons'us trim'lin', it sca'ce can hoi' de 
bow, 
But I'll go ter de great-house, an' po'ly doh I feel, 
I'll play fer you dis Chris'mus, de ole "Virginny 
Reel." 



Hyer I is, 'twix' de pillars, de fiddle in my han', 
De moonlight streamin' on me, befo' de doh I stan' ; 
De big oak grove is roun' me, de low-grounds 

lie in sight, 
An' home, an' fields, an' hillsides gwine heah de 
Reel ternight. 



26 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

Ah me! dem moonlit winders — dem 'flections on de 

pane — 
Dey 'claims de fire is lighted, de folks is home 
ergain ; 
An' dem long limbs er-tappin' like feet dat trippin' 

go, 
Dey says de folks is comin' ter dance de Reel once 
mo'. 



Dem mus' be mo' 'en shadows whar move erbout de 

walk, 
Dem mus' be mo' 'en pine trees whar talk dat lovers' 
talk; 
An' dat ar soun' like satin, er-rustlin' 'cross er floh, 
Sho' dat ain' dead leaves stirrin' er-roun' de shet up 
doh. 



'Tain' jes' er spell whar's on me — I ain' jes' crazy ole — 

I say de house ain' empty, de rooms ain' dark an' 

col'. 

Can't I heah ladies talkin'? Can't I see all de light? 

Ain' dis me an' de fiddle? Ain' dis hyer Chris'mus 

night ? 



De Ole Fiddler , 27 



Dey's come! Dey's come fer Chris'mus, all dem whar 

went erway ; 
Dey's callin' fer de fiddler, dey wants ter heah him 
play. 
I'll meet 'em an' I'll greet 'em — I'll 'scort 'em ter de 

floh— 
Dis bow an' string gwine fyarly sing de Chris'mus 
chunes once mo'. 

Git out hyer banjo-nigger, fling 'way dat plunkin' 

thing ! 
I cuts an' calls de figger, de fiddle is de king. 
Jes' heah him talkin' tender, jes' heah his laughin' 

ring; 
Prepyar yo' feet fer pattin', de fiddle's gwin'ter 
sing. 

Choose yo' partners, gem'men all — gem'men all — 

gem'men all — 
Choose yo' partners, gem'men all — partners fer de 

ball. 
Tek yo' little sweetheart's han', tek an' hoi' it 

while you can, 
Doh she 'bleege' ter blush an' start wid de flut- 

t'rin' er de heart — 
Dat ar heart you gwin'ter steal when she dances in de 

Reel. 
Oh! how happy fiddlers feel — fiddlers feel — fiddlers 

feel— 
Oh ! how happy fiddlers feel when dey play de Reel. 



Ole Marster and Other Verses 



Fus' two ladies down de lane — down de lane — down 

de lane — 
Fus' two ladies down de lane — han's ercross an' 
back ergain — 
Den de gem'men does de same, dat's de way ter 

play de game. 
Gallavantin', flirtin', courtin', trippin', tippin', fyarly 
floatin', 
Light as wind on toe an' heel, dat's de way ter dance 

de Reel. 
Oh! how happy fiddlers feel — fiddlers feel — fiddlers 

feel— 
Oh ! how happy fiddlers feel when dey play de Reel. 

Ev'y body march er-roun' — march er-roun' — march 

er-roun' — 
Ev'y body march er-roun' — steppin' ter de fiddle's 

soun' • 
'Till yo' own true loves is foun' — kase you'll fin' 'em 

I be boun'. 
Who-some-ever you mout seen, whar-some-ever 

you mout been, 
You gwine meet 'em at de en' — meet yo' true 

loves, gentlemen. 
Den de weddin' bells gwine peal at de endin' er de 

Reel. 
Oh! how happy fiddlers feel — fiddlers feel — fiddlers 

feel- 
On ! how happy fiddlers feel when dey play de Reel. 



Study'n' 'bout Chris' mus 29 



STUDY'N' 'BOUT CHRIS'MUS. 



De Chris'mus uv de good ole times 
Is gone, an' dat's er fac'; 

'Tain' nothin' 'tall dat I knows er 
Gwine bring dat Chris'mus back. 



De niggers an' de white-folks now 
Is drif'in' wide erpart, 

An' love whar 'sisted 'twix' de two 
Is done desart de heart. 



De niggers does like dey don' cyar; 
De white-folks 'pear ter say : 

"While we walks 'long on dis hyer paf 
You go 'long dat er way." 

'Tain' no Ole Mistiss now ter please; 
'Tain' no Ole Marster's han' 

Ter 'spense ter darkies roun' de place 
De fatness er de Ian. 



30 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

'Tain' no big smoke-house, chock right full 
Er ham an' chine an' side, 

Ner celler whar de 'lasses flow, 
An' sperits alius bide. 

'Tain' no mo' rations I kin draw, 
Ner clothes g'in me ter w'ar, 

'Tain' no white-folks gwi' mek aig-nogg 
An' save dis nigger's shar'. 

Ole Mistiss done it, dat she did, 
She dip it out de bowl 

An' say : "Hyer, Silas, have er glass, 
De night is ve'y col'. 

An' tek dis other ter Aun' Jane — 
Don't tas'e it, 'strain yo'self ; 

I wants her too, at Chris'mus time, 
Ter drink her Marster's helf." 

'Twuz mons'us hard ter cyar dat glass 
Fur as de cabin doh, 

Kase once you tas'es dat aig-nogg 
You gwine ter wan' some mo'. 



Study'n' 'bout Chrismus 31 



An' Satan, too, keep temp'in' me; 
He try ter mek me think 

Dat half er glass sho' is ernough 
Fer women-folks ter drink. 

But whar's de use uv dealin' wid 
De things an' times gone by — 

It jes' he'ps mek young niggers mad, 
An' ole ones wan' ter cry. 

But how-some-never dat mout be, 
I hoi' it am' no crime 

Ter miss dem things I use' ter git 
At dat ole Chris'mus time. 



Ef I had fifty cents dis night 
I'd burn dat Chris'mus lorg; 

I'd git de milk an' beat de aigs, 
An' mek me some aig-nogg, 



An' time I got dem 'gredients mix' 
I'd lif de glass, like dis — 

An' tek an* drene it ter de drugs 
In 'membrance ter "Ole Miss." 



32 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



CHRIS'MUS IN MY BONES. 



I done sold my load er hay, 
I done gone an' got de pay, 
I ain' gwine ter wuk ter-day — 
Chris'mus in my bones. 

Dis hyer jug is full er rum, 
Tears like Ize er-needin' some, 
Yas ! I 'spec' de time done come — 
Chris'mus in my bones. 

I hyers you gwine Glug! Glug! Glug! 
I don' need ter use no mug, 
I gwine fling 'way dis hyer plug — 
Chris'mus in my bones. 

Dat's de stuff whar drowns yo' cyar, 
Dat's de juice whar makes you r'ar, 
Ize so happy ! Wah ! Hoop-la — 
Chris'mus in my bones. 

Nor Suh, Marster ! Who drunk ? Me? 
Ize ez straight ez straight kin be. 
'Pears right strange dat you cyan' see — 
Chris'mus in my bones. 



De Ole Battered Banjo 33 



DE OLE BATTERED BANJO. 



When lone, 'fo' de fire, I sets in de evenin', 

An' studies 'bout pictures I sees in de flame, 
I feels like Ize back on Ole Marster's plantation, 

An' lives wid de darkies at quarters again. 
I smells de cook' possum, I tastes de roas' Haters ; 

I sees de gals grinnin' an' dancin' wid joy ; 
An 'den I reach out fer ter finger de banjo, 

De ole battered banjo I played when a boy. 
De sweet singin' banjo, de clear ringin' banjo, 
De ole battered banjo I played when a boy. 

1 'low dat dat banjo wan' much fer ter look at, 

Kase niggers an' chillun done handle' it rough, 
But Marster an' Mistiss dey love fer ter heah it, 

An' playin' fer dem two wuz pleasure sho 'nuff. 
Fer all de big parties an' dances an' weddin's 

Dis nigger de whi' folks would alius employ, 
An' how dey did dance when dey heah me a pickin' 

De ole battered banjo I played when a boy. 
De fun flingin' banjo, de gal slingin' banjo, 
De ole battered banjo I played when a boy. 



34 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

Oh, gone is de days uv de dancin' an' singin' ; 

De quarters is ruin', de great house is clos' ; 
An' whar, in de ole times, de music wuz ringin' 

De high grass is growin' 'roun' shet cabin dohs. 
De banjo's head's bu'sted, de strings is all broken, 

De chilluns done taken its frame f er a toy ; 
An' all de sweet voices whar j'ined in our chorus 

Is hush' like de banjo I played when a boy. 
De low sobbin' banjo, de tear bringin' banjo, 
De ole battered banjo I played when a boy. 



Written for Polk Miller and sung by him. Music by 
Jacob Reinhardt. 



Waitin' in de Sunshine 35 



WAITIN' IN DE SUNSHINE. 



De darkies all have wandered, an' lef me hyer 

behind ; 
Dey wuz talkin' 'bout me might'ly, an' dey claim I 
los' my mind, 
For dey say I wuz de bigges' fool-nigger dey ever 

saw, 
Jes' kase I love de good white folks whar live 
befo' de war. 



chorus : 

Gone, gone is all frum out de quarters an' de Hall ; 
Gone, gone, de laughin' an' de joy. 
As I sets hyer in de sun, my mind still studies 'pon 
Dem happy, happy times gone by. 

I am' got no mo' strength fer ter hill de growin' 

corn, 
An 5 I feels so mons'us po'ly dat I wakes befo' de 

morn, 



Ole Marster and Other Verses 



An' I has a kind o' 'spicion dat I'll lose my 

hyerin' soon 
Kase I never heahs ole Ranger doh dey say he 

bays de moon. 

chorus : 
Gone, gone, etc. 

Ize settin' hyer an' waitin' to kotch de welcome 

soun r 
O' de angel dat will tek me whar de 'ternal res' is 
foun', 
An' I ain't afeared ter foller kase I know he'll 

tek me sho', 
An' Ize gwine ter keep on waitin' in de sunshine 
'fo' de doh. 

chorus : 
Gone, gone, etc. 



Ize Boun' fer Ole Hanover 37 



IZE BOUN' FER "OLE HANOVER.' 



Ize boun' fer "Ole Hanover", I live' dyar 'fo' de 

war; 
Dyar's whar Ize had he nappies' times dis nigger 
ever saw. 
I knows de roads is miry, de creeks is runnin' 

high, 
But down ter "Ole Hanover" I'll git, 'cep' 'tis I 
die. 

I ain' got time ter projec', Ize 'bleege ter git erlong; 
Ize 'feared the dark will kotch me, an' some'n mout 
go wrong. 
I done heah tell dat sperits roams roun' de swamp 

er nights, 
De sperits er dem soldiers whar git kill' in de fights. 

I dunno what dey does dyar, or what dey gwine 

ter say, 
But you jes' heah me, honey, I wan' keep out de way. 
Dey's fit once kase er niggers, an', I don' cyar who 

,win, 
I don' wan' no contention 'bout dis hyer nigger 
'gin. 



38 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



I knows I ain' got nothin' on 'count er dat ar war, 
'Cep' 'tis dey alius gins me de full 'stent er de law. 
In all er sech contentions what is de bone gwine 

get? 
It 'pears like, mos' in gin'ral, de bone is gwine 
be et. 

But sence I talks er eatin', I jes' wan' let you know 
Dat down in "Ole Hanover" is de place fer vittals, 
sho'. 
Dey's alius killin' chickens, dey eats 'em ev'y 

day, 
Dey's got so much fri' chicken dey flings de tough 
ones 'way. 

An' as fer watermillons, dey's big ez ever grew ; 
Ize got ter see dat nigger whar handles mo' 'en 
two. 
Dese little eight-cent millons folks sells up in de 

town, 
Down dyar dey's same ez nubbins and chillun 
kicks 'em roun'. 

Ize got ter be er-movin', Ize ridin' " Shanks' s invar," 
Jes' kotch dat smell er vittals dey's cookin' way 
down dyar. 
Ize comin', "Ole Hanover," I let you know Ize 

glad- 
Save me some dat fri' chicken, I wants it mons'us 
bad. 



Bresh 'Em 'Way 39 



BRESH 'EM 'WAY. 



When you fus' heah de buzzin' er de blues, 

Bresh 'em 'way! 
It's er gwine ter tek heap mo' 'en sayin' "Shoos," 

Bresh 'em 'way! 
Sence dey scratches an' dey fights, 
An' you gits sick when dey bites, 
Sock it ter 'em 'fo' dey lights, 

Bresh 'em 'way! 

chorus : 
Bresh 'em 'way, oh my brother! Bresh 'em 'way! 
Don' you let 'em cotch er holt o' you an' stay. 
Wid dey sharp teef an' dey claws 
Dey jes digs in you an' gnaws, 
Bresh 'em 'way! Bresh 'em 'way! Bresh 'em 'way! 

Time er lie start ter whisper, "Ize yo' man," 

Bresh it 'way! 
Time it promise fer ter he'p you all it can, 

Bresh it 'way! 
Ef you let dat little lie 
Git its wings an' start ter fly 
It'll bite you bye-an'-bye. 

Bresh it 'way! 

chorus : 
Bresh it 'way, etc. 



40 • Ole Marster and Other Verses 

When de drink holler ter you "Hyer's yo' f ren' !" 

Bresh it 'way! 
When it tell you, "You's ez strong ez other men/' 

Bresh it "way ! 
'Fo' you stumble an' you stutter, 
'Fo' you's flung inter de gutter, 
'Fo' you's los' yo' bread and butter, 

Bresh it 'way ! 

chorus : 
Bresh it 'way, etc. 

Ef tem'tation come an' ax you, "How you does?" 

Bresh it 'way! 
When it say, "Ize been er-wond'rin' whar you wuz." 

Bresh it 'way! 
Doh er sof, sweet-talkin' crittei, 
Dat's er powerful hard hitter, 
It's de devil's own man-gitter. 

Bresh it 'way ! 

chorus : 
Bresh it 'way, etc. 



De Hoe-cake Walk 41 



DE HOE-CAKE WALK. 



De bull-frog jumps when he wants ter git erlong; 
De mockin'-bird hops 'fo' he larn ter sing er song; 
De ox is kinder willin' doh he gwine ter move 

slow, 
But it teks er heap o' projic' ter mek er mule go. 
Dem critters am' lackin' in de natchul parts, 
Dey jes' don' study 'fo' dey meks dey starts; 
Chillun got ter think 'fo' dey knows how ter talk, 
An' it teks edgycashun fer de Hoe-cake walk. 
Hoe-cake zvalk! Hoe-cake walk! 
Git edgycashun fer de Hoe-cake walk. 

It gwine tek science, an' de way ter git de swing 
Is ter keep er-totin' water on yo' haid frum de 
spring; 
An' when you done cotch it you gwine meet yo' 

match 
Till you totes watermillons on yo' haid frum de 
patch. 
Balancin' dem millons is mons'us hard ter do, 
But I kin tek an' tote 'em when I done eat two. 
I jes' steps spry, an' I don' never balk. 
O, I is de King o' de Hoe-cake walk. 
Hoe-cake walk! Hoc-cake walk! 
I is de King er de Hoc-cake walk. 



42 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

You w'ars er white ves' fer ter git de right tone, 
You 'bleege ter look proud like de earth wuz yourn, 
You smiles at de gals, an' you bows perlite 
Doh you's counted mighty danj'us when you gits 
inter er fight. 
I step so sof, an' I tread so true, 
De folks never 'spicions 'bout de razor in my shoe. 
Ef er nigger sass me he got ter walk chalk, 
I protects de ladies in de Hoe-cake walk. 
Hoe-cake walk! Hoe-cake walk! 
Gran' promemade fer de Hoe-cake walk. 

De clos' I w'ars is all bran' new, 

(I knows white-folks whar is lookin' fer 'em too), 

I gits my style frum de quality folks; 

I gits my fun out de almanac jokes; 
I gits my strength out er eatin' hoe-cakes, 
An* I gits my sperits out de sperits I takes, 

But de possum I tackles wid de knife an' fork 

Dat supples up de j'ints fer de Hoe-cake walk. 
Hoe-cake walk! Hoe-cake walk! 
He up de j'ints fer de Hoe-cake walk. 



De Hoe-cake Walk 43 



Fotch out dem gals, I want ter crown de queen ; 
Bring de likesomes' nigger whar ever wuz seen. 
Her lily white han' she'll lay in mine, 
An' de king an' de queen gwine march down de 
line. 
I'll step ter de throne, an' set her dyar, 
Fix blood-red roses in her kinky hyar; 
Ter de soun' er de riddle, an' de poppin' er de cork 
I'll crown her de queen er de Hoe-cake walk. 
Hoe-cake walk! Hoe-cake walk! 
Crown her de queen er de Hoe-cake walk. 



44 01 e Marster and Other Verses 



STUDY'N' HOW TER KEEP FRUM GITTIN' 
SHOOK DOWN. 



When de win' blows hard an' de lim's all lurch 
De bird is a bird whar kin stick ter de perch, 
An' in dese times when we all gits jolts, 
We's doin' mighty well jes' holdin' our holts, 
Still ev'ybody wants fer ter dim' up de tree, 
An' see fer deyselves what de "Tip-tops" see, 
But time dat we reach ter de very fus' roun', 
We's study'n' how ter keep frum gittin' shook 
down. 
Gittin' shook down, 
Gittin' shook down, 
From de top o' de tree right plum' ter de groun', 
We's study'n' how ter keep frum 
Gittin' 

Shook 

Down. 



Study'ri How ter Keep frum Gittin' Shook Down 45 

In de ways we clim's an' de ways we clings 
We sho is de kin o' de fo'-laig things, 

An' gittin' ter groun', we jes' soon tread 
On dis hyer one's ne'k er dat ar one's head ; 
An' pullin' folks' laigs, an' ridin' folks' backs, 
Doh jumpin' an' joltin', we sticks ter de tracks, 
But lookin' fer licks we don' sleep soun', 
We's study'n' how ter keep frum gittin' shook 
down. 
Gittin' shook down, 
Gittin' shook down, 
Frum de top o' de tree right plum' ter de groun', 
We's study'n' how ter keep frum 
Gittin' 

Shook 

Down. 



46 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



GRASSHOPPERS. 



Yas! I see de sporty butler whar is w'arin' white- 
folks' clothes, 
Air* I see too, dat perliceman whar is watchin' 
whar he goes — 
Now er little bird done tol' me, an' he say it 

mighty nice: 
"Dyar's er hoppergrass er-hoppin', 
An' he hoppiri on de ice" 

Ya-s! I know dat high up preacher whar has got 

his praises sung 
Kase de realms er gloom an' glory he's er-'splorin* 
wid his tongue, 
But er little bird done tol' me, an' he say it mighty 

nice: 
"Dyar's er hoppergrass er-hoppin', 
An' he hoppin' on de ice." 

Y-a-s ! Ize played dat crapshus nigger whar is got 

de dice an' cup, 
An' he fluug de seven erleven ev'y time he shake 
'em up, 
But er little bird done tol' me, an' he say it mighty 

nice: 
"Dyar's er hoppergrass er-hoppin', 
An' he hoppin' on de ice." 



Grasshoppers 47 



Y-a-s! Ize 'quainted wid de gem'man whar, ter 

mek his sperits calm, 
Slips erway frum home 'fo' bre'kfast fer ter git er 
sip er dram, 
But er little bird done tol' me, an* he say it mighty 

nice: 
"Dyar's er hoppergrass er-hoppin', 
An' he hoppiri on de ice." 

Y-a-s! It 'pears Ize ningin' brickbats, an' I 'spec' 

I better quit, 
Doh, er course, 'tain' none my hearers whar de caps 
is gwine ter fit — 
But er little bird done tol' me, an' he say it mighty 

nice: 
"You's er hoppergrass er-hoppin', 
An' you's hop pin' on de ice." 



48 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



DE SHUCKIN' O' DE CORN. 



My brothers and my sisters, 

On dis sunny Sabbath morn 
Ize in min' ter do some preachin' 

'Bout de Shuckin' o' de Corn, 
An' Ize gwine ter mek it p'inted, 

An Ize gwine ter say it plain — 
Dyar's er monsfus mess o' shuckin' ', 

But er mighty little grain. 

Y'all knows de corn-stalk speakers 

Whar jes' spring up out de groun', 
How dey shakes dey top-knot tassels 

Whar-some-never crowds is foun\ 
Well, if y'all will tek an' shuck 'em, 

In de barn-house o' de brain — 
Dyar's er monsfus mess o' shuckin', 

But er mighty little grain. 

Y'all buys de Sunday papers 

Fer ter git de gwines-on; 
How de rustle o' dat fodder 

Meks you 'spec' ter git some corn. 
Well, on time de leaves is open, 

An' you gathers up yo' gain — 
Dyar's er monst'us mess o' shuckin' , 

But er mighty little grain. 



De Shuck in' o' de Corn 



4<J 



Y'all goes down ter de cote-house 

Whar dey brings de folks ter taw, 
An' you heahs er lot o' lawyers 

Keep er holl'rin' at de law, 
An' ef den you calls de doctors 

Dey gwine projec' wid yo' pain — 
Dyar's er monst'us mess o' shuckin' ', 

But er mighty little grain. 

Now Ize name' de main 'lustrations, 

An' you knows Ize name' 'em true, 
But befo' I ends dis 'pistle 

Ize er-p'intin' it at you; 
So, er standin' hyer, I axes : 

"Is de sunshine an' de rain 
Jes' er-makin' you all shuckin's 

Or er-pilin up yo' grain?" 

My brothers and my sisters, 

Jes' ez sho' ez you is born, 
Right behin' yo' backs, folks shuck you 

All de same ez shuckin' corn, 
An' ef you is little nubbins, 

Den yo' growin's all in vain; 
Folks airi gwine count yo' shuckin's; 

Dey's er-gwine ter count yo' grain. 



50 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



UNCLE JOE. 



Young Marster, please don' call me "Brown," 

Don' say it any mo', 
Wid my white-folks I ain' name dat, 

I jes' is "Uncle Joe." 

I knows you wan' ter be perlite, 

An' thought I'd like it too, 
But when you used dat titlement 

It didn' soun' like you. 

I 'lows I likes fer color'd folks 

Ter call me "Brother Brown," 
It soun' like Ize er-gittin' up 

Instid er drappin' down. 

An' when I gits in my black clos', 

Puts on my beaver hat, 
Er han's de plate erbout in chu'ch, 

I feels whar I is at. 

It sho does mek me kinder proud 

Ter stan' an' look er-roun', 
An' heah de sisters whisperin', 

"Jes' look at Deacon Brown." 



Uncle Joe 51 



But when de flick'rin' cabin fire 

Shows faces in de glow, 
I sets an' studies 'bout de ones 

Whar call me "Uncle Joe." 

I raccolec' when you wuz small, 

An' I wuz gittin' on, 
But I wuz still what I call young, 

Doh fifty years wuz gone. 

I tuk an' hel' you on my knee; 

Wuz tellin' you 'bout byars ; 
When you saw', shinin' in my haid, 

De very fus' grey hyars. 

You ax' me den, how ole I wuz, 
You talk so grave an' slow, 

An' when I tol' you "fifty years," 
You call' me "Uncle Joe." 

Dat come jes' like er blessin' Suh, 

It soun' like we wuz kin; 
It made me feel dat love wuz deep — 

Heap deeper den de skin. 

An' what you call' me folks tuk up, 
Miss Jane, an' Sue, an' May; 

Seem like dey all wuz claimin' kin, 
A new one ev'y day. 



52 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

Gawd bless dey little chillim hearts. 

I lov'd 'em, dat dey knowed, 
An' I b'leeve dat wuz why de name 

Tuk sech er root an' growed. 

I ain' fergot how we all wuz, 

I never gwine fergit; 
My book er 'membrance reads ez plain 

Ez when it fus' wuz writ. 

De folks like you an' me, Marse John, 

Dey's few now, mons'us few; 
An' therefo', doh de times is change', 

Dey shan' change me an' you. 

So don' you call me "Brown," Marse John, 

Don' say it any mo', 
Wid my white-folks I don' name dat, 

I jes' is "Uncle Joe." 



Little Mistiss 53 



LITTLE MISTISS. 



"Little Mistiss," hyer I is, 

Ize settin' by yo' grave. 
I sees de shadows dance an' play 

Jes' time de cedars wave. 
I sees 'em, an' it calls to min' 

How full o' play you was, 
An' studyn' 'bout de like o' dat 

Mos' breaks my heart, it does. 

"Little Mistiss," spring's done come 

De sky is cl'ar an' blue; 
De birds is singin' all de songs 

Dey sung las' year to you ; 
Dey sings like dey wan' cheer me up, 

But while I hoe de corn 
De win' keep whisperin' in de pines- 

"De little Mistiss gone." 

De a'r is full o' sweetness now; 

De blooms is on de trees, 
An' roun' de honey-suckle vine 

I heahs de buzzin' bees. 
De grass is long an' sof an' green, 

An' ev'y growin' thing 
I's puttin' out an' 'pearin' like 

It know'd dat dis was spring. 



54 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

Tain' so wid me, nor dat it aint, 

Dyars some'n says to me, 
Dat doh de spring's done come ag'in, 

Tain' what it use' to be. 
I feels like winter still was hyer ; 

It's mons'us hard to Tarn 
Dat spring can come, and flowers can bloom 

Wid "Little Mistiss" gone. 



I misses, out de new plow' groun', 

De tracks o' little feet ; 
De echoes 'spondin' through de woods 

Yo' laugh, so clear an' sweet; 
Yo' han', whar use' to cotch hoi' mine, 

An lemme lead you 'long 
De big ole lorg stretch' 'cross de creek 

Whar you was 'feared wan' strong. 



You don' go wid me fer de cows, 

An' walk right by my side, 
Or come home on ole Brindle's back 

Jes' like you use' to ride. 
I miss you ev'ywhar I turns; 

Still I fergit you's gone, 
An' 'spec's to see you any time 

Come runnin' through de corn. 



Little Mistiss 55 



An' doh Ize dis'p'inted heap, 

I listens for de soun' 
An' 'lows dat ef you ain' right dyar 

You's somewhar playin' roun'. 
I knows dat I gwi' see yo' face, 

I knows I'll heah yo' voice, 
Kase some'n you done tol' me 'bout 

Is made dis heart rejoice. 



I think I heahs you sing dat hymn 

'Bout Jesus byarin' sin, 
An' how he's tol' 'em at de gates 

To let po' sinners in. 
An' doh ole Satan 'rassle like 

He wan' to fling me down, 
Ize sho dat when de fight is done 

Ize gwine to git my crown. 



56 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



MAMMY'S CHARGE. 



My heart is mos' broke, Judy, an' my haid is achin' 

bad, 
Dis is de sor'ful's evenin', honey, dat I is ever had. 
Dey knowed I love dat dear sweet chile, an' now 

her Mummer's daid 
Dey could trus' her ole black mammy fer ter treat 
her good, dey said. 

So dey lef me in de nu's'ry fer ter keep de chile up 

dyar, 
But I still could heah de service, an' de preacher 
read de pra'r; 
De chile too kotch de singin', an' de tears I had 

ter hide, 
When, in play she kep' on 'peatin', "O Lord, wid 
me abide." 

When de fune'al it wuz over, an' de hearse wuz 

driv' away, 
I try might'ly fer ter 'muse her, an' ter keep her 
dyar at play, 
But she 'sist on askin' questions like, "Whar is 

my Farver gone? 
I wants ter see my Mummer; will she stay 'way 
frum me long?" 



Mammy's Charge 57 



I cyar' her ter de winder, an' she look' out in de 

street, 
'Tel she got so tired waitin' dat she went right fas' 
asleep ; 
But I set dyar in de twilight an' I hel' de little 

dear, 
'Tel de street wuz on'y darkness, an' de stars 
begin ter 'pear. 

Den one star come out, Judy, whar I never sees 

befo', 
An' I look at it so studdy dat de tears wuz 'bleege ter 
flow; 
Den I tu'n an' see my darlin', in her sleep, begin 

ter smile; 
An de new star seem' a-shinin' right down upon 
de chile. 



58 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



AFTER THE WAR. 



Good mornin'! Ize 'Lijer, Marse William— 

I hopes you is well, Suh, terday. 
Ize needin' er pyar er de ole shoes 

You's study'n' 'bout flingin' erway. 

Am' got none! Well dat is er pity. 

Now what is I gwine fer ter do? 
'Tain' showin' my 'spec' fer "Ole Marster" 

Ter walk er-roun' hyer wid one shoe. 

Er-knowin' dat one er his sarvants 

Whar done fer him all dat he could, 

Was gwine er-roun' beggin' dis hyer way, 
He'd turn in de grave, dat he 'ud. 

I dunno how 'tis, Marster William — 
I don' 'pear ter fit in no whar, 

I gits wid de new issue niggers, 
But sholy, my people ain' dyar. 

Dey dresses jes' like dey wuz monkeys; 

Dey quarrels an' gits inter fights; 
Dey stands in de way er de ladies, 

An' claims dat dey's 'sertin' dey rights. 



After the War 59 



Dey talks mighty heap erbout larnin' ; 

Dey mek out ole niggers is fools — 
I lay I could tek an' spen' money 

On some'n heap better'n schools. 

Young niggers ain' needin' no teachin' 
Like ole uns needs vittals an' meat — 

I tell you, sence gittin' my freedom, 
Ize scrambled fer some'n ter eat. 

Den too, Suh, jes' look at de white-folks — 
Dey's changin' frum what dey once wuz; 

Er-tryin' so hard ter mek money 
Dey loses dey manners, dey duz. 

I ax 'em fer some'n ernother ; 

Dey look like dey'd bite me in two, 
Dey tell me, "Go long ter de po'-house, 

We am' gwine be pester'd wid you." 

I looks roun' fer some dem whar know'd me, 
But, Marster, I finds dat dey's gone — 

I call out de names like I use' ter, 
But nothin' 'cep' echoes den 'spon'. 

Dey's sleepin' in graves at de "ole place," 
An' hyer dey has left me behin' — 

I wish I wuz res'in' 'longside 'em, 

It 'pears like it's time I wuz gwine. 



60 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



THE RACE QUESTION. 



When I wuz young de color' d folks 
Wuz 'low'd ter lay de bricks; 

Dey climbed de scaffolds, toted hods, 
An' made de mortar mix. 

Dey'd handle hammers, saws an' planes, 
An' any tools dey'd choose — 

It wan' no folks 'cep' niggers den 
Whar use' ter half-sole shoes. 

In dem dyar times 'twuz nigger backs 
Whar gave de scythes de swing; 

'Twuz big, black, shiny nigger arms 
Whar made de anvils ring. 

An' settin' on de wooden horse 
Wid staves betwix' dey laigs, 

Wid drawin' knives an' hic'ry poles 
De niggers hooped de kaigs. 

You couldn' fin' no barber shop 
Dat we-all folks wan' dyar — 

De little ones er-shinin' shoes, 
The big ones cuttin' hyar. 



The Race Question 61 



Wid high up gem'man names print' on 

De mugs er-settin' roun'; 
Er heap o' niggers made dey piles 

Frum shaves an' breshin' down. 



But 'tain' so now, nor dat it aint, 

De white-folks cuts us out; 
Dey jumps right in an' gits de wuk 

'Fo' we knows what dey's 'bout. 

Dey 'trac's de trade — dem out-land folks- 
Dem 'Talians, Dutch, an' Greeks, 

Aldo' 'tain' none whar understands 
De 'spressions whar dey speaks. 

Dey shaves an' shampoos all day long, 

Dey never, never stops — 
Dey don' pick banjers fer dey fr'en's, 

An' cake-walk in de shops. 

De Orishman is wuss er all — 

Jes' time er nigger nod, 
He step right up an' shev' him down 

An' grab er hoi' his hod. 



62 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

An' den de Unions layin' bricks, 

Dey hollers out ter Mike — 
"Ef dat dyar nigger gits dat hod, 

We-all is gwine ter strike." 

Den ev'y body on de job 

Er-j'inin' in de fray, 
Jes' tells de niggers, up an* down, 

Ter go 'long out de way. 

De bosses don' cyar nothin' 'tall; 

Dey say we's mighty slow; 
Dey kinder laugh an* 'lows it's time 

De nigger got ter go. 

An' ef we turns den ter de farms, 
Whar we had ought ter been, 

We dyar gwine find some big machines 
Fer us ter buck erg'in. 

Dey's took an' drove out all de scythes — 

I 'clar, it is er crime 
Ter reap, wid one dem whirlin' things, 

De whole crop at er time. 



The Race Question 63 



I know we's gittin' mighty lamed— 
Folks say we's making has'e; 

Dyar's heap o' sass an' argyment 
'Bout "Progress er de Race." 

I 'lows we' settin' up de tree — 
De nigger's on er boom — 

But I wan' know whar 'bouts is I 
Gwine git some elbow room. 

Er-study'n' 'bout one question, Suh, 
Nigh bu'sts my brain 'jints loose. 

"Is niggers now er-cotchin' holt, 
Er is dey off de roos' ?" 



64 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



RECONSTRUCTION. 



I know dey tuk de bottom rail 

An' put it on de top, 
But, ever sence, dat's been de rail 

Ter whittle on an' chop. 

De men whar tuk an' put it dyar 
Know'd niggers am' got sense; 

Dey fix it so jes' dey deyselves 
Could set 'pon top de fence. 

Dey open carpet-bags up dyar, 

Dey eat up all de pies, 
An' wuss den dat, dey done it too, 

Right 'fo' de niggers' eyes. 

So many folks set on dat rail 
It soon got mighty bent, 

An' 'bout dat time er some'n' 'curred 
Whar wan' no axerdent. 



Reconstruction 65 



De white rail crope frum 'neath de fence- 
It hit de black — ker-flop ! 

An' time de nigger cotch his sense 
De top wuz on de top. 

I don' wan' be no top rail now; 

De bottom suits dis chile — 
Ize study'n how ter be de las' 

Whar's flung inter de pile. 

I teks an' lets de white-folks 'lone ; 

I don' wan' make no slips — 
De black rail buttin' 'g'inst de white 

Mout git pick* up in chips. 



66 Ole Marstcr and Other Verses 



THE PESSIMIST. 



Nor Suh, de times am' what dey wuz, 

-An* dey's gittin' mighty bad ; 
De craps is all done bu'nt right up, 

An' de chills is de wuss we's had ; 
You cyarn' git money out er nobody hyer, 

An' de folks keeps gwine ter law; 
Am* nothin' 'tall in de county, Suh, 

Like 'twuz "befo' de War." 



Niggers is edgycated now, 

An' dey am' gwine wuk no moh; 
Dey holds dey haid so mons'us high 

Dey don't wan' tech de hoe; 
Dey sets on de fence an' talks all day, 

An' dey '11 gin you sass an' jaw; 
Dey ain' got de 'spect fer de white-folks, Suh, 

Whar dey had "befo' de War." 



The Pessimist 67 



De fox an' de mink eats all de hens, 

An' de horgs root holes in de road ; 
Dat blame' ole mule bus' de gyarden fence, 

An' de rats gnaw' inter de boa'd; 
De crows dey comes an' steal all de corn — 

Dyar now, you kin hyer 'em caw ; 
It 'pears dat de critters is meaner, Suh, 

Den dey wuz "befo' de War." 

'Tain' no peaches in de orchard dis year, 

An' de turnips is de size o' er ball, 
An' Ize sartin sho', if de weather keeps up, 

De 'bacca gwine be ruin' 'fo' de fall ; 
De watermillons dey ain' no count, 

Dey's smalles' I ever saw; 
Don' none de things grow big hyer, Suh, 

Like dey did "befo' de War." 



68 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



RUMINATIONS. 



Er-ramblin' down de road er life 
You's got ter 'counter storm an' strife; 
So tote 'long wid you some de balm 
What he'ps ter keep men's sperits calm. 
Nor, 'tain' no dram 
Dat meks folks r'ar, 
It's 'bacca, Sah. 



Den when de times is pretty hard, 
An' you ain' got no f r'en'ly pard, 

An' crops is gittin' wuss and wuss, 
An' you's erf eared you's gwine ter bus', 
An' want ter cuss — 
Right dyar, instid, 
Bite off er quid. 



Or ef de gal you's courted heap, 
Yawns 'fo' yo' eyes an' draps ter sleep, 
An' by de time you say, "Good-bye," 
You's flung so fur an' kicked so high 
You want ter die — 
De time is ripe 
Ter light er pipe. 



Ruminations 69 



An' when de boss has call' you in, 
An' starts lambastin' wid his chin, 
An' says yo' wuk is mons'us po', 
An* he don' want you any mo', 
You's got ter go — 
Jes' tek er chaw, 
An' let him jaw. 

An' ef de doctor say ter you : 
''Quit all de things you want ter do ; 
Quit drinkin' any drink dat's good, 
Quit eatin' ev'y kind er food, 

You starve de germs out er yo' blood. 
Den, brother, shout, 
"I'll smoke 'em out." 



70 Ole Marsier and Other Verses 



CONTENTMENT. 



Gimme fus' er wood fire 
Fer ter toas' my shin, 

Gimme nex' a big chair 
Fit fer res'in' in. 



Gimme den my houn' dorg 
Settin' down by me; 

Fill up full my jimmy-john- 
Full as full can be. 



Lemme me pick my banjer, 

Lemme eat my pone, 
Lemme me smoke my cob-pipe, 

Den — jes lemme 'lone. 



The Point of View 7* 



THE POINT OF VIEW. 



Brer Possum he kin lick Brer Coon, 
Brer Coon kin lick Brer Houn', 

An' ev'ybody knows Brer Houn' 
Kin bring Brer Possum down. 

Er nigger frum er sideshow, once, 

He come an' say ter me : 
"We's got er possum, houn', an' coon 

Fer our menagerie. 

We cotch 'em out hyer in de woods 
When we wuz haulm' lorgs, 

An' we's in min' ter raise 'em up 
Like edgycated horgs. 

We wants ter teach 'em how ter march, 

We'd give mos' anything 
Ef dey would march like soldiers does, 

Jes dem three in er ring. 



72 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

We puts Brer Possum 'fo' Brer Houn', 
'Hin' Brer Houn', Brer Coon step ; 

Dat brings Brer Possum 'hin' Brer Coon, 
An 5 den we hollers — 'Hep!' 

Brer Houn' he grabs Brer Possum's tail, 
Brer Possum don' tu'n roun' ; 

Instid he grabs er-holt Brer Coon, 
Brer Coon he grabs Brer Houn'. 

Wid all dem critters holdin' holt, 
Jes' time Brer Possum squeal 

De whole caboodle's j'ined in one, 
An' whirlin' like er wheel. 

Now, Ize done come ter ax you, Suh, 

Whar is er man o' peace, 
How can we 'range dem critters so 

Dat fightin's gwine ter cease?" 

I up, an' tol* dat (circus man: 
"Ize glad dat you's come 'roun'; 

I'll tek dis 'casion fer ter 'splain, 
An' also fer ter 'spoun'. 



The Point of View 73 



Brer Possum he kin lick Brer Coon, 
Brer Coon kin lick Brer Houn', 

Still ev'ybody knows Brer Houn' 
Kin fotch Brer Possum down. 

De on'y way you gwine have peace, 

Is so ter mek 'em front, 
Dat ev'y critter's gwine ter see 

Er giant 'stead o' runt. 

De wildes' critters in de woods 

Is got dis tex' in min', 
"When danger's gwine on befo' 

Don' never look behin'." 

I tol* you I wuz gwine ter 'splain, 

An' likewise fer ter 'spoun', 
You'll never git dem critters right 

Untwel you tu'ns 'em 'roun'. 

Brer Possum skeered Brer Houn' gwine bite, 

Brer Coon ain' gwin'ter fail 
Ter 'member 'bout what happens when 

He tech Brer Possum's tail. 



74 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

An' ole Brer Coon 'pear ter Brer Houn' 

Er lion in de paf; 
So when he see him he gits col', 

Like niggers in er baf. 

De 'rangement, possum, houn', an' coon 

Is gwin'ter stan' fer war. 
De 'rangement, possum, coon, an' houn' 

Gwine stan' fer peace an' law. 

So when de critters in de camp 

Is itchin' fer er fight, 
Jes' 'range each one ter come behin' 

De wrong one fer ter bite. 

An' time you does, dem fightin' beasts 
Will see what dey gwine see, 

An' change dey looks 'twel dey looks like 
Faith, Hope, an' Charity." 

So den I 'nounce dis mighty tex', 

Doh it ain' nothin' new, 
Ter be fer peace er be fer war 

'Pends on de point o' view. 



The Duck 75 



THE DUCK 



I sho' will tell de gorspel truth, 'cordin' de oath I 

tuk, 
You don' spose I gwine tell a lie, jes' fer ter git er 
duck? 
Besides, I don' need tell no lie when truth will 

sarve de same, 
Kase mine sho' is de righteous cause — dat nigger 
am' got no claim. 

'Tis dis er way I got dat duck. Me an' dat gal 

er mine 
Was eatin' millons in de yard an' flingin' 'way de 
rine, 
An' dat dyar duck keep peepin' twix' de palin's er 

de fence, 
An' den it traspass in de yard — it stay dyar 
ever sence. 

It wan' no bigger'n my ns' when fus' it come in 

dyar, 
An' one de laigs wuz crimp up so dey didn' look 
like a pyar; 
It had de yaller feathers still, an' kinder shet one 

eye, 
An' when I see it standin' dyar, I say, "Dat duck 
gwine die." 



76 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



I never did lodge no complaint, I did'n' wan' raise 

no fuss; 
But when it peered so mighty sick, an' gittin' wuss 
an' wuss, 
I sorter s'picioned how some time great trouble I 

gwine see 
Jes' kase I 'lowed dat sickly duck ter come an' 
live on me. 



It sleep right underneath de house an' eat all 

kind er truck, 
An' my ole 'ooman doctored it, an 5 Mirny nussed 
de duck. 
Dat gal los' edycashun, Suh, she acted like a 

fool; 
Fer ev'y time de duck got sick she stay erway 
frum school. 

I am' no lawyer, but I knows dat I kin argyfy. 
Ef dat ar nigger says I steals, I tells him he's er lie. 
I gwine hev justice in dis case — some questions 

I wan' ax, 
An' ef he thinks dat he's so smart, jes' let him 
'spute de facts. 

When niggers creeps inter de yard, an' totes de 

ducks away, 
De p'leeceman cyar 'em ter de cage, an' dyar dey 

got ter stay; 



The Duck 77 



But, sposen doh, I has er fence, an' dat man's 

duck bus' through 
An' steals tomatis off de vine — den what de law 

gwine do? 

An' when de duck come traspassin' in dat ar yard 

er mine, 
It wan' no use ter warrant it, fer who gwine pay de 
fine? 
Fer all de time dat duck stay dyar, nigh on six 

months an' moh, 
Dat nigger got ter pay de boa'd, an' dat is sartin 
sho'. 

I tells him I gwine charge him too, fer physic dat it 

tuk, 
An' edycashun my gal los' er nussin' er de duck. 
I counts in all de heaps er cyars an' sponsibility 
Er keepin' dat ar sickly duck dat he shove off on 
me. 

Dyar's one 'lustration I wan' make — Yes Suh, I 

mos' is through — 
How Solomon, de King, he say, "J es chop de chile 
in two!" 
An' ef you bleeged ter split dat duck, ter foller 

jestice' paf, 
I makes de pint, / fatten it, ari claims de bigges' half. 



78 Ole Marsier and Other Verses 



THE KING CORN MAN. 



I teks dis 'casion fer ter rise 

An' 'nounce I'll git de "King Corn Prize," 

Whar's offered fer de bigges' corn ; 

Bekase ez sho' ez you is born 
Ize got de very bigges' ear 
Dat folks is ever see 'roun' hyer. 

An' I wan' tell you too, my brother, 

Dat I am' nary farmer nother. 
I never wuz no country man, 
Nor ploughed de smalles' patch er Ian'. 

I couldn' tell er' bacco seed 

Frum dat whar grows de Jimson-weed. 

But still I sez ter you, "Dorg-gone, 
Ef I don' git dat prize fer corn." 
Soon ez I heah 'bout dat ar prize 
I scratch my haid an' shet my eyes, 
An* study out de champion plan 
Fer crownin' me de "King Corn Man." 

Ize done heah tell dat 'long de streams, 
In special, Suh, de "noble Jeems," 
De farmer folks, fer heap er years, 
Been settin' out de roas'in'-ears ; 
An' so I say right dyar : "Dorg-gone, 
Ef I don' 'zamine all dat corn." 



The King Corn Man 79 

So den I took it, foot-in-han', 

An* start' ter tromp de farmin' Ian', 

Untwel de low-groun's show* my track 

From Botetourt ter Accomac. 
An' doh er heap o' snakes I see', 
An' farmers' dorgs got arter me, 

An', hyer an dyar, erlong de route 

I stop' ter git de chiggers out, 
An' I pass' thro' er mess er crops 
Wid ears like dem de chillun pops, 

I never see' er great big ear 

I didn' stole it fer "de Fyar." 

Now, what's de good er puttin' on 

Dem big-bug men ter jedge folks' corn 
When ev'y farmer, brought ter scratch, 
Gwi' bring de leavin' er his patch? 

While I, de King's got hyer ter show 

De bigges' corn dat each kin grow. 

Pears like, ter me, dat's was'in' talk; 

De corn's been j edged, Suh, on de stalk. 

An' so I seys ergin, "Dorg-gone, 

Ef / don' git dat prize fer corn." 



8o Ole Marster and Other Verses 



THE TRAVELERS. 



My brothers, we's er trav'lin' like de critters in de Ark, 
An* er part de time it's daylight, an' er part de time 
it's dark, 
An' de ocean's dyar ter git us ef we don' stick ter de 

ship, 
So we goes wid fear an' trim'lin' fer de mos' part 
o' de trip. 

We lives in little cages whar we daily walks er-roun', 
An' we sometimes has de 'spicion dat we's gittin' over 
groun', 
But time we tek our byarin's an' we ca'culate de 

sum, 
We finds de place we 'rives at is de place frum 
whar we come. 

Like owls some totes dey wisdom in de faces whar dey 

meks, 
An' gits er name fer larnin' kase dey eyebrows look 
like specks, 
Dey can do er lot er screechin' when dey's talkin' 

'bout de night, 
But dey sets an' don' say nothin' when de time has 
come fer light. 



The Travellers 81 



Dyar's some whar's like de tigers — mons'us res'less in 

de cage, 
An' de things whar's sent ter hoi' 'em is de things 
whar mek 'em rage, 
'Stead er gittin' down ter business an' er-playin' 

in de show, 
Dey's er-chawin' at de i'on an' er-pawin' at de doh. 

Den er heap is like de monkies whar is clim'in' fer de 

top, 
An' de other monkies grab 'em, an' dey try ter mek 
'em stop, 
But de waves o' tribulation give de ship er mighty 

lurch 
An' de mess o' clim'in' monkies come er tum'lin' 
off de perch. 

Dyar is some whar 'sembles goslin's in de way dey 

march behin' 
De ones whar goes befo' 'em, doh dey don' know whar 
dey's gwine; 
Jes' steppin' in de goose-tracks er de father goes 

de son, 
An' he never does do nothin' dat his daddy didn' 
done. 



82 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

Yas, we's mighty like dem critters whar was trav'lin' 

in de Ark, 
De top-deck ones is frozen an' de bottoms in de dark, 
An' de middles dey is 'spicious dat de vittals won' 

go roun', 
So dey watches all dey neighbors kase dey's 
feared dey'll fling em down. 

We's er-floatin' an' er-drif'in', but we's bleege ter reach 

de sho', 
An we knows de time is comin' when it am' gwine rain 
no mo', 
When we'll see de lighthouse shinin' by de wharf o' 

Ararat, 
An' we'll look down frum de mountain an' we'll 
know whar we is at. 



I rec'on den de top-decks gwine ter thaw er little bit ; 
De bottoms, down in darkness, gwine be lifted out de 
pit; 
De middles won' be scramblin' an' er-scufflin' in de 

pen, 
But dey'll roam roun' in de gyarden an' dey'll git 
er plenty den. 



The Travellers 83 



I rec'on den de monkies will be 'lowed ter clim' up 

high, 
De owls gwine tek ter smilin' kase dey'll see de 
sunny sky, 
De tiger gwine be quiet an' as frien'ly as de cat 
When de rain it quits er rainin' an' we gits ter 
Ararat. 



84 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



DE POT WHAR CALL' DE KITTLE BLACK. 



De pot, whar call' de kittle black, 
Look' in de glass an' tuk it back. 
He saw hisself dat he wan' bright, 
An' so he say : — "On secon' sight, 
I don' b'leeve dat dyar kittle's black, 
It looks like me, an' dat's er fac'; 
An' I spec* too, Ize gwine ter fin' 
Ole kittle's heart is 'bout like mine." 

We ain't er-wearin' on de face 

De happy, shiny look o'grace, 
Kase axerdent an' sarcumstance 
Done lead us sich er devil's dance, 

We's got on us er coat o' paint 

Whar meks us look like what we aint; 
Ther'fo', o' course, dis row done riz 
'Bout what we aint an' what we is. 

We'd like ter shine up in de light 
Like table things whar's clean an' white, 

An' kep' erway f rum all de grime ; 

But me an' kittle, mos' de time, 
Is got ter set wid coal an' coke 
An' fire an' flame an' dus' an' smoke ; 

Wid burnin's out an' bilin's in 

We git ter look like home-made sin. 



De Pot whar calV de Kittle Black 85 



But, how-some-never way we look, 

We face de fire an' we cook 

Jes' like we's put hyer fer ter do, 
An* on de fire we sing some too; 

But easy times wa'n' made fer us, 

We's doin' well ef we don' bus'. 

Now, dat dyar plate thinks she's all right, 

Er-settin' dyar, an' lookin' white. 
She am' done nothin' all de day 
'Cep' settin' lookin' dat dyar way; 

Jes' waitin' fer ter grab er hoi' 

O' what we cooks, befo' it's col', 

An' tote it whar de folks kin see, 

Er-sayin' : — "Now, jes' look at me! 
What splendid vittals I is got, 
Er-bringin' ter you, pipin' hot! 

I hope dat you gwine 'preciate 

De mighty labor o' de plate." 

An' dyar an' den dat sassy liar, 
What never face no smoke er fire, 
Gits all de praise fer what is et — 
De produce o' our wuk an' sweat — 
An' folks all 'lows dat glory great 
Is what's done fer 'em by de plate. 



86 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

Dey don' see nothin' 'bout de pot; 
Him an' de kittle's lef fergot. 

An* so it is, jes' like I say, 

"Good looks gwine git de praise terday." 
But I wan' ax, wid pain an' sorrow, 
Whar 'bouts dat plate gwine be termorrow? 

Jes' let her git off dat dyar shelf, 

An' start ter circulate herself 

In all dis kitchen mix an' mess, 
She gwine have Ventures. I be bless 

Ef she don' fin' dis worl' is rough, 

An' dem whar's in it mighty tough. 

An' few dyar be whar don' git bent 
By sarcumstance an' axerdent. 
One time de fire scotch her back 
You'll see her wrinkle up an' crack, 
An' all dat face whar use' ter shine 
In ev'y spot gwine sho' de line 

Whar tribulation tuk an' tromp, 

An' stomp' his hoof an' lef er stomp. 
Hyer now ! Ize talkin' 'bout de plate 
Jes' like I done 'bout my bes' mate, 

Ole kittle, when I call him black, 

An' doin' it behin' her back. 



De Pot whar call de Kittle Black 87 

Kin I jedge what she ought ter be? 
Ain' we made different, her an' me? 

I tek back mos' de things I said. 

Poor plate ! She mighty tender made, 
An' still she always got ter shine. 
'Tain' none de people gwine ter min' 

De pot's face showin' some de sut, 

But let er plate git jes' one smut, 

Somebody's sartin sho' ter shout, 
"Dat plate is dirty, take her out!" 

An' arter dat her only hope 

Is in de wash-rag an' de soap; 
An' even den, folks is so mean, 
Dey axes, "Does you 'spec' she's clean?" 

Ef once she slip, an' has er fall — 

Good-bye forever, an' ter all. 

Dyar 'tis, she's crush'— er mighty smash — 
An' ev'ybody's heah'd de crash, 

An' dem whar's nigh her gits de broom 

An' sweeps her quick, right out de room, 
An' hides her twell she pass erway 
Wid all de ashes an' de clay. 

De pot whar call' de kittle black 

Look' in de glass an' tuk it back. 



MONOLOGUES 



Aunt Dinah at the Fair 91 



AUNT DINAH AT THE FAIR. 



Well,, I declar', ef dyar ain' Jane! I didn' know she 

wuz hyer. 
Oh! come 'long, Son, stan' out de way — you'll git run 

over, Suh! 
It 'pears like we ain' got no rights when sech as dis 

is 'lowed, 
An' good-fer-nothin'-po'-white-trash come ridin' 

through de crowd. 

Hi Jane! Oh, Jane! Hyer! Hyer we is! Jes' 

shove yo' way 'long through. 
Well, I is s'prized ter see you hyer. Malviny, how 

you do? 
Why, Lor', how dat ar gal is grow'd — she might'ly 

like her Pa — 
But den she got de likely looks in 'zemblance ter 
her Ma. 

How's all? Is Uncle Samson up, an' Sary Ann 

got well? 
Is little Job done 'covered frum dat cur'ous sickly 

spell? 
Ef he don' git erlong an' mend, it cert'ny 'pears ter 

me, 
Ef I wuz you, I'd gin dat chile er dose o' sass'fras tea. 



92 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

You say dat Uncle Samson got de mis'ry in de 

face? 
Why don' you git some Jimson-weed an' rub it on 

de place? 
Den ef brown-kitis troubles him, I'd cure him, dat 

I 'ud; 
I'd mek him smoke dry mullein leaves — dey's done 

me heap er good. 



How long you been hyer? Is you seen de light- 
bread an' de cake? 

Well, 'tain' no 'count — it 'pears like, now, folks don' 
know how ter bake. 

De pies an' things is jes' as bad; de Fyar gits wuss 
an' wuss. 

I thought Malviny's quilt de bes'. I say so frum de 
fus\ 



Nor, I don' 'zibit nothin' 'tall — dey don' like color'd 

folks. 
At ev'y thing dat I wan' sen' de white- folks laughs 

an' jokes. 
I sen' some 'summons fer ter show; dey eat up all 

de pile, 
Den say dey don' show 'simmons hyer wid produce 

er de sile. 



Aunt Dinah at the Fair 03 

Jes' now I went ter see de race, but when I cross' 

de trac' 
A p'leeceman cotch right hoi' er me, and say, "Git 

back! Git back!" 
I up an* tor him ter his face ter quit dat bossin' me, 
Dat I done pay ter come in hyer, an* I wuz gwine 

ter see. 



Jes' look er dyar — am' dat er fight? Dat p'leeceman 

got him doh — 
Git out de way ! Dat's Washington ! Don' hit him 

any mo'. 
He ain' done nothin' 'cep' git drunk. Who pull out 

all his hyar? 
He mos in gin'ral do git drunk when he come ter 

de Fyar. 



You 'bleege' ter cyar him ter de cage fer 'sistin' de 

p'leece? 
Dyar 'tis; he'll be de death er me — I never has no 

peace. 
I s'posen, now, ter git him out, Ize got ter pay de 

cos' — 
Good gracious ! Whar is Little Joe ! I know'd he 

gwine git los' ! 



94 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



DAT BOY 



Good mornin', Sister, how you does? You wan' at 

chu'ch las' night? 
Oh, things wuz 'citing' dyar, one time I thought 

folks gwine ter fight. 
'Twas all erlong er dat dyar boy, Sis Mandy Jones's 

son. 
I'd w'ar my chillun out if dey had done what he 

done done. 
He walk in, all so solemn like, an' den what mus' 

he do, 
But tek an' sot hisself right down jes' back o' Bro' 

Smith's pew. 

I wuz dat s'prized I couldn't talk, but Jane say, "I 

declar ! 
What is de Jones boy doin' in de 'Amen Cornder' 

dyar?" 
He sing straight long jes' like de res', an' come in 

wid de bass, 
Till arfter 'while I kinder 'lowed he wan' no harden' 

case. 
An' Jane, she say, "I b'lieves he's 'formed an' wan' 

ter do de right. 
You heah me, Ma, he gwine be on de Mourner's 

Bench ternight." 



Dat Boy 95 



Well, things wuz peaceful in de chu'ch, an* Jasper 

'gin ter preach; 
He 'splain, an' 'spoun', an' talk right long, kase 

souls is hard ter reach. 
Twan' nothin' 'tall Bro' Smith wan' heah, doh it 

wuz larn' an' deep; 
So Bro' Smith lean' er-ginst de pos', an' went right 

fas' asleep. 
I heah er soun', same ez er breeze er-blowin' through 

er tree, 
It 'peared ter come onreg'lar like — Cow-00 ! Co-wo-o ! 

Co-we-e ! 

It 'trac' folks' notice, an' I tu'n an' say, "Hi, what 

wuz dat?" 
But Jane tell me de fuss come frum de place Bro' 

Smith wuz at. 
Bro' Jasper frown', an' look' right mad ; I thought 

he gwine ter say, 
"Jes' rouse dat deacon er de chu'ch, he mustn' sno' 

dat way." 
But he kep' on, he didn' stop, de "Fourthly" wuz 

de nex'; 
He 'splain' dat studyin' 'stronomy helps 'lucidate de 

tex\ 



g6 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

Den come er fuss — er lot er snorts like horgs wuz 
rootin' roun', 

An' 'fo' I knowed it I done 'sclame, "Dat's Bro' 
Smith, I be boun' !" 

An* Lindy Smith, she 'spec' so too, 'bout dat dey 
am' no doubt; 

She wan' draw 'tention off her Pa, dat's why she 
'gin ter shout; 

But time she start, Jane up an' say: "Dyar he, I 
seed him sho' ! 

Jes' soon ez Mister Smith wuz 'sleep dat boy com- 
mence ter sno' ! 

He set back dyar, an' when Bro' Smith done let his 

haid fall down, 
Dat good-fer-nothin'-low-life boy prepyar ter mek 

er soun'." 
Den Bro' Smith riz, an' grab dat boy, he cotch him 

by de hyar, 
He didn' wait till chu'ch buss up, he frail him down 

right dyar. 
Dat rascal 'rassle all his might, he kick Bro' Smith's 

shin bone; 
He holler, "Quit dat hittin' me !" an' "Whyn't you 

lemme 'lone!" 



Dat Boy 97 



He paw, an' bite, an' carry on rampageous ez er colt, 
But 'twa' no use o' doin' dat, Bro. Smith jes' hilt 

his holt; 
An' Bro'er Smith he tell dat boy he gwine ter have 

him know 
He am' ter put dat mouf o' hisn in folks affyars no 

mo'; 
An' ef he is afeard ter die, an' wan' ter keep his helf. 
He'll let de sleepers in de chu'ch do snorin' fer dey- 

self. 



98 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



THE MARCH OF THE LODGES. 



Dey's comin', holdin' up dey haids, er-lookin' sorter 

proud ; 
Dey's comin', wid de horn an' fife er-blowin' 
mighty loud ; 
Dey's steppin' kinder solemn like an' marchin' ter 

de chune — 
Oh ! dis hyer is de f unerul uv er ve'y 'portant coon. 

De music whar dey's steppin' ter is got de mourn- 
ful wail 
Whar makes er sickly nigger turn er I'sh-potato 
pale. 
"Flee like er bird ter de mountain" 's what dey 

play, 
But hue-come I know dis yer bird is flyin' dat er 
way? 

De "Swarthy Hos' er Israel" is 'vancin' mighty 

gran', 
But natchally dey's doin' dat, dey's jes' behin' de 
ban'; 
An' dem whar totes de little books is "Scribes er 

Galilee," 
Dey alius 'scorts de banner-man, de "Famous 
Pharisee." 



The March of the Lodges 99 

My gracious! Ain' he puff' up heap wid 'portance 

er hisself, 
He better slacken up de belt befo' he hurt his helf. 
I ain' no sayin' he ain' strong, aldo' he sho' is 

fat- 
Man, Suh ! dat is a portly place de flag-staff's 
res'in' at. 

But dat ar' gem'man so het up, er-totin' er de mace, 

Whar got de sperspiration streams er-runnin' down 

his face, 

He is de bigges' boss er all — his name is Mr. Sam — 

His titlement is "Fountain Head er Risin' Sons 

er Ham." 



Yas, dat is Sister Lindy Smith er-ridin' in de hack. 

I see de collar er de lodge is wrop er-roun' her na'k. 

She washes fur "de Quality," an' ev'y whar she 

goes 
She loosens up de starch fur 'em by w'arin' er dey 
clos\ 

But look er dyar at little Lige! — Jes' watch him 

cotch de step — 
Ef he's er-gwine all de way I lay he got ter hep. 
Dem pants er his is heap too big, dey's roun' his 

shoes, dey is ; 
Ef I was him I'd res' er spell, an' h'ist my galluses. 



ioo Ole Marstcr and Other Verses 



Nor Suh! I ain't erfeared ter die — Ize done prepyar 

ter go, 
I got er lot er 'ligion now an' gwin'ter git some mo' ; 
And when de S'ieties Ize j'ined turn out ter bury 

me, 
Dey won' leave cooks enough at wuk ter git de 
white-folks' tea. 



Speech of the Rev. Gabriel Gizzardfort 101 



SPEECH OF DE REV. GABRIEL GIZZARD- 
FORT ON DE CELEBRATION OF DE 
FOURTEENTH COMMANDMENT. 



My Bretheren an' Sisteren, now wharfo' is we come 
Er-gatherin' tergether at de beatin' er de drum, 

Korvortin' roun' de city streets, an* marchin' ter 

de squar; 
1 tek, an' ax you once ergain, what is we doin' 
dyar? 
We's had er mighty big parade, an' gwines to an' 

fro, 
We's hollered fittin' f er ter buss de walls er Jericho ; 
An' now, while we's er-settin' down, an' ladies, 

in de hacks, 
Is fotchin' bags an' baskets out an' fixin' up de 
snacks, 
Befo' partakin' er de pies, er eatin' er de aigs, 
Er succulation on de souse, er chewin' chicken laigs, 
Befo' de liquordation er de kaigs er lemonade 
I ax you, p'intedly, wharfo' is dis hyer gran' parade ? 
It ain' no use ter answer me. Dat question's on'y 

me'nt 
Ter set er-gwine dis hyer speech, an' p'int de argy- 
ment. 



102 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

De preacher is de on'y one ter 'rassle wid de fac's, 
An' 'splore, an' 'splain, an' spatify de questions 
whar he ax; 
Perceedin' therefo', Bretheren, I 'nounces ter yo' 

face 
De titlement er dis hyer speech is "Progress er 
de Race." 
An' in consideration er de takin' er de tex' 
De 'terpertation er de same is natchally de nex\ 

What signicates de 'scription er de 'spression you 

is heard? 
"De Progress er de Race" is sho' er mighty p'inted 
word. 
It 'zibits dat we's movin' on — mozeing ev'ywhar — 
Er-stoppin' jes' ter res' er spell, an' den perceedin' 
dyar; 
It misticates de 'nouncement er how high we 

gwin'ter rise, 
But hyer we is, pas' Jordan's stream, wid 
Canaan 'fo' our eyes. 
We's heah'd de trump er freedom blow, an fcllerm' 

de soun' 
We seen er mighty rootin' up, an' heap er drappin' 
down. 
De wicked, like de green bay tree, is troubled 

wid er crash ; 
De proud er heart done fly befo' great flingin' up 
er trash. 



Speech of the Rev. Gabriel Gizzardjort 103 

De prodigal whar tended horgs an' tuk an' eat de 

hus' 
Is fyarly travellin' down de road, an' kickin' up de 
dus\ 
He smell de cookin' far erway, 'an 'cep' he break 

er shaf, 
He gwine git home 'fo' supper time, an' eat de 
golden calf. 
Yas, tek de mule, hitch up yo' team, grab hoi' de 

drivin' line; 
Don' be er feared er spillin' out, jes' go 'long whar 
you gwine. 
Rejoice I say, my Bretheren — my Sisteren rejoice — 
Go git yo' harps like David done, an' mek er 
joyful noise. 
Behol' an' lo, de bottom rail is whar de folks kin 

see; 
De yaller dorg is nosein' roun' whar p'inters used 
ter be. 
De coons ain' scared er nothin' 'tall, an' sho'ly ez 

you born, 
De coal black crows is cawin' loud an' pickin' up 
de corn. 
Yea verily, we's frisky now, we kinder feels our 

oats, 
An' ev'ywhar dyar's heap er folks what want ter 
buy our votes. 
Up in New York an' Boston, too, dey's sellin' 
mighty nice, 



104 Ole Marster and Other Verses 



But roun' 'bout Philadelphia we gits de bigges' 
price. 
So what de use er stayin' hyer whar 'tain' no chance 

ter trade ; 
I alius leaves at 'lection time, an' gits my 'spenses 
paid 
At all de polls in dat dyar place, de town er 

Brother's Love, 
I changes coats, I gits er name, an' gives a vote 
er shove. 



Astronomical Observations 105 



ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATIONS. 



You see dem niggers walkin' dyar, dey's all jes' 

gwine one way, 
Dey 'spec' ter heah Ole Jasper preach erbout de 
Sun ter-day. 
What! you am' larn de sun do move, and Jasper 

'splain all dat? 
Well, you sho' ain' no Richmond man! Whar- 
bouts is you live at ? 

When ole man Jasper 'nounce de tex' — he alius does 

dat fus'— 
He looks so full er argyment you 'spec' his haid 
gwine bus'; 
But when he 'rassle wid larn' folks he jes' on- 
loose his tongue, 
An' show he got de underholt, an' dem folks 
gwine git flung. 

My gal, Malindy's one dem kind; she's done been 

ter de school, 
An' claim she's studied 'stronomy, an' Jasper is er 
fool. 
She 'lows dat she's too good ter wuk — dat shows 

what larnin's worf — 
She calls de risin' er de sun "rosation er de yearth." 



io6 Ole Marstcr and Other Verses 

I gin her what John Jasper say, its truth, Suh, I 

be boun' 
Dat ev'ything gwine spill right out ef dis hyer yearth 
tu'n roun'. 
She kinder laugh an' den she 'nounce dat's some'n 

she kin 'spoun' ; 
It's grabbity, grabs hoi' er things when we's tu'n 
upside down. 

I stop her dyar, I 'sputes dat p'int, kase hue-come 

dat gwine be? 
In all de time dat I done 'zis', it am' grab holt er me. 
She love ter projec' wid dem things folks looks 

through at de stars, 
An' dyar wuz one out on de street she claim' wuz 
p'int at Mars. 

I ax de man how much he charge', he say, "Fi' cent 

fer one." 
An' den I look straight up de thing same ez I shoot 
er gun. 
I tuk so long he wan' ter know ef I wan' seein' 

sights, 
But I 'spon' back, dat all I see wuz poles an' 
'lee'ric lights. 



Astronomical Observations 107 

He tell me, "Ef you'd shet dat eye you'd see er 

small red ball." 
I shet my eyes, an' time I did, I ain' see nothin' 
'tall. 
I don' trus' dem dyar enstruments an' men de like 

er dat 
Whar claims dey 'lustrates stars an' things, an' 
cyar'n p'int whar dey's at. 

I heah dey measures ter de sun, an' say it's b'ilin' 

hot; 
I let 'em know I wan' ter see de tape-line whar 
dey's got; 
An' ef it re'ches ter de sun, I jes' wan' ax 'em den, 
Ain' dat hot sun gwine scotch de man whar climb 
dyar wid de en'? 

Ize cert'ny glad dat Jasper's hyer ter 'splain all 

'bout de skies, 
Kase ef he wan' er heap er folks would 'cep' dem 
mons'us lies. 
Ize done convert dat gal er mine; I done it dis er 

way, 
I gin her all de rope she wan', I let her say her 
say, 



io8 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

But t'other mornin' Lindy's ma wuz grumblin' mighty 

heap, 
An' say ter me, "Does you know, Si, dat gal is still 
ersleep?" 
I holler, "Why'nt you git up gal, an' go 'long 

feed de cow?" 
An' I keep thinkin' ter myself, "My patience 
'zausted now." 

She answer, sorter sleepy like, "It's strange dat you 

cyar'n see 
Dat folks is 'bleege ter sleep right late when study'n' 
'stronomy." 
I tuk an' fotch er hic'ry switch, an' den, I lay, I 

prove 
Dat when de sun's er-movin' up dat nigger's 
gwine ter move. 



John Jasper, a negro preacher, famous in Virginia for 
his sermon, "The Sun Do Move." 



Dat 'Lecric Cyar 109 



DAT 'LECRIC CYAR. 



It ain' no use er-takin' time ter projec' wid er mule, 
De man whar does dat in dese days ain* better'n 
er fool; 
Fer things done change, I know dey is, ain* I 

done see it, Suh? 
An' ploughs an' cyarts gwine run erlong jes' like 
de 'lee'ric cyar. 
Don 5 nothin' pull er shev' dem cyars, an' still dey 

fyarly fly; 
De driver don' say, "Come up, mule!" an' "Gee!" 
an' "Wah !" an' "Hi I" 
I git on one de other day — dat 'speyunce gwine 

ter las' — 
Dey don* suit me, aldo' dey mout dem whar wan' 
go 'long fas'. 
De man whar stan' up in de front he tu'n er kinder 

thing 
Dat look jes* like er grind-stone crank — de bell go 
ting-er-ling ; 
Den 'twuz I feel er mons'us juck — it fling me 

down right flat — 
It come so quick I holler out, "My Marster! 
What wuz dat?" 
I up, an' grab er little rope ter keep frum fallin' 
down, 



no Ole Marster and Other Verses 



But ev'y time I pull de rope de bell would mek er 
soun\ 
De en' wuz tie* onter er clock whar didn' run er 

tick, 
But den de han' on dat ar clock would kinder 
jump down quick. 
Er man say, "Leggo dat ar rope, an' lemme have 

yo' fyar." 
He talk so peart I say ter him, "I am' done nothin\ 
Suh \" 
"You is — you's gone an' rung fi' fyars." Dat's 

what he had ter say. 
Two ten cent an' er fV cent piece I good ez fling 
erway. 
I 'uz pestered kase I pull' dat rope, an' I 'uz skeered 

too, 
Fer some'n underneath de flo' wuz gwine zoo-woo- 
woo, 
I done heah tell dat b'ilers bus', an' ingines runs 

erway, 
An' cyars' chock full er folks an' things, git smash' 
up ev'y day; 
An' dem what don' git kill' right den gits bline an* 

deef an' dumb — 
An' standin' dyar I mighty 'feared dis nigger's time 
done come. 
I tuk an' light out fer de doh, an' on de flatform 
dyar, 



Dat 'Lecric Cyar in 



De man wan' stop me, but I say, "Tu'n loose an' 
gimme a'r!" 
I tuk an' jump, but some'n 'peared ter tu'n me roun' 

an' roun', 
An' 'fo' I know it I done made de 'quaintance er 
de groun'. 
I 'uz sorter daze', an' look ter see whar 'bouts my 

hat done went, 
But I wan' hit 'cep' in de haid, an' dat jes' git er 
dent. 
De man whar made dem 'lec'ric cyars, you heah me, 

wuz "Ole Scratch"— 
De fire come poppin' out de wheels same ez you 
light er match. 
An' so it is, jes' like I say, tain' pull' by nothin' 

'tall ; 
Dey's tuk, an' shev', right out de way, de nigger, 
mule, an all. 
An' you's done heah dat prophecy, dat now sho' is 

come true, 
"When white-folks 'spenses wid de mule, de nigger 
gwine go too." 



Ole Marster and Other Verses 



SEEING THE CIRCUS. 



Boom! Boom! Boom! Hi! Don' you heah de 

drum? 
Boom! Boom! Boom! Run hyer! Yarn* dey 
come! 
Tek an' dim' up in de tree. Don' you git no fall, 
Kotch er holt like possums does, den you'll see 
it all. 
Boom ! Boom ! Boom ! Dey'll be nigh ter us 

soon. 
Boom ! Boom ! Boom ! Why don' dey play er 
chune? 
Watch dat lady comin' now, man suh! dat's er 

sight ; 
All her clos' is made er gol' ! Am' she shinm' 
bright? 
Dat ar gem'man by her side, you heah me, he's de boss, 
I knows it kase he 'pears so proud er-settin' on de 
horse. 
Hyer come de ban' ! I 'spec' 'twill play, I wants 

ter heah de crash. 
Oh ! dat big man whar beats de drum gwine mek 
dem cimlins clash. 
Ta-ra! Ta-ra! Ta-ra! Ta-ra! Dyar 'tis, Oh, dat's de 
soun' ! 



Seeing the Circus 113 



Ta-ra! Ta-ra! Ta-ra! Ta-ra! Dey's talkiri, I be 
bouri ! 
'Tain* none de ban's in dis hyer town kin kick up 

dat ar fuss. 
Dem Dutchmans blowin' er de horns is blowin' fit 
ter bus'. 
Am' dat er chune dey's playin' doh, dey's got it 

down right fine. 
Ef I could play dem enstruments I lay I'd jine 
de line. 
I wish dat nigger walkin' dyar would tek an' drap 

de drum, 
I'd go an' ax de Cap'n-man ter lemme tote it some. 
I'd git in dat ar nigger's coat, I'd look like some'n 

gran', 
I'd cotch de step, an' mark de time same ez er 
little man. 
You heah dem lions in de cage? Dey'd kill folks, 

dat dey mout, 
I hope de doh is lock' up tight, so day ain' gwine 
git out. 
Dey's got de bigges', sharpes' teef dat I is ever see; 
I let you know Ize sorter glad Ize settin' up er 
tree. 
Ole elephant gwine flop his ears — -he travelin' 

mons'us slow, 
I 'spec' he's got so fat an' big, dat's fas' as he kin 
go. 



ii4 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

Dyar he, right dyar! You mus' be blin'! What 

is you talkin' 'bout? 
Ain' none de critters got two tails; de fus' tail is 

de snout. 
What dat de lady on de cage got wrop' all roun' 

her naik? 
Hyer, drive 'long dyar! Tek dat thing 'way! Good 

gracious what er snake! 
Don' stop right under dis hyer tree! Oh me, de 

lim' done break! 
My Marster! Ef I hits de cage please lemme 'scape 

dat snake ! 



A Fire Insurance Policy 115 



A FIRE INSURANCE POLICY. 



I ain' gwi' fight de devil wid fire; 

I don' wan' git no nigher 

Den er thousan' mile 

Ter de burnin' pile 

Er tar an' pitch an' kerosene ile. 

I don* wan' face de congregation 

Er all damnation 

In conf'igation — 

I'd burn ez hot 

Ez a light-wood knot. 

Er same ez a match 

Rubbed 'ginst "Ole Scratch." 

Nor Suh, my son, 

I teks an' run 

Jes' time tem'tation starts de fun. 

I ain' de kin' 

Ter alius fin' 

I kin lick Satan wid strength er min'. 

One time "Ole Sin" 
Come trompin' in 
Wid a glass er gin, 
An' he say ter me — 
Say he — 



u6 Ole Marster and Other Verses 

"It's time ter begin. 

You knows de tas'e an' you knows de smell, 

An' you knows mighty well 

You's boun' fer Hell; 

So drink yo' dram, 

An' don' give a dam'. 

I cotches yo' eye — Here's ter you, Sam !" 

He look at me an' I look at him, 

An' I knowed fer sartin my chance wuz slim ; 

An' den he say — "Oh, don' be 'feared, 

'Tain' nothin' 'tall ter mek you skeered. 

I wish you wealth, an' I wish you joy — 

Come, drink ter de health er 'Mister Ole Boy' : 

Kotch hoi' de glass an' heave-er-hoy." 

Den some'n nother said ter me — 

"Ef you wan' ter be free 

You better mosee. 

It am' no use 

Ter mek excuse; 

You jes' vamoose, 

Kase hyer come Want an' hyer come Doubt 

Projec'in' 'bout; 

You better light out." 

Den, sho's you born, 

Dis nigger wuz gone. 

He run down de trac' 

Wid er clickerty-clac', 

He did fer a fac', 



A Fire Insurance Policy ny 

He never look back. 

An* down ter dis day 

When de devil's ter pay 

He gits out de way, 

An* dat's why he's hyer er sayin' his say. 

Thar'fo', good people one an* all, 

Harken, an' heah, an' heed de call ; 

Ac' like er man, 

Tek yo' foot in yo' han', 

An' run, an' run, an' run, an' run, 

An' ef you run 

Like I done done 

You'll soon fin' out de fight is won. 

Er ef you'll run jes' half ez good 

Satan won' have no kin'lin' wood, 

But back ter Hell he'll have ter turn, 

An' say — " 'Tain' nothin' lef ' ter burn ; 

We'll have ter cook wid what dyar is." 

An' den, I lay, it ain' no doubt 

All perdition's gwine ter shout — 

Oh, go 'long 'way ! What dat you say ? 

We's nigh 'bout friz — 

Hell fire's tuk an' gone right out." 



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